


Late night intervention

by Feelingflamesagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelingflamesagain/pseuds/Feelingflamesagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is too tired to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late night intervention

**Author's Note:**

> A slice from my head-canon for these two, in which Sherlock is asexual.

It’s about four in the morning when Lestrade finally slumps into his bed. Too tired to even pretend to try and slip under the covers carefully enough not to startle Sherlock. He’s glad to have found the bed with the shutters closed tightly and not even a flicker of light from the street disturbing the complete darkness surrounding him. Besides, Lestrade knows Sherlock is awake anyway, the silent presence of alertness. 

Every bone and muscle in Lestrade’s body screams for attention, that’s the level of tiredness he has reached. Lestrade tosses and turns, longing to find enough peace of mind for even a nap. But it turns out to be one of those nights when the mercy of sleep seems beyond his grasp. He even tries some vague yoga-like techniques, willing them to chase away the gruesome images in his head, replacing them with cliché pictures of green meadows and sandy beaches. Sadly, to no avail. 

Eventually, Lestrade resigns to settling on his side and slips a hand under the elastic band of his pyjama bottoms. He has his back turned towards Sherlock, shielding them both from his final attempt to shut his brain up. Fuck the bloody beach. Lestrade needed hard flesh and features with rough angles, the feeling of moist heat around his cock, the sound of wet slapping of skin on skin … At first, the brush of lips on his neck, the body pressing against his back, seem like a natural manifestation of the fantasy he is trying to create to find release. When the well-known, elegant fingers first join and then replace his own hand, moving up and down his rapidly filling cock, Lestrade doesn't argue. He stifles a groan and, readily, lets Sherlock take over. 

Sherlock’s hand won’t stay for the sticky part. It never does. But it doesn't matter; Lestrade is used to it by now. He fumbles for the box of tissues on the bedside table and wipes himself reasonably clean before his, now thankfully blank, mind finally welcomes the darkness. 

He still manages to turn around, feel for Sherlock’s hand and squeeze it gently. Whether or not he hears Sherlock say ‘You’re welcome’ quietly in return, will have to remain uncertain.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2011. Unbetaed.


End file.
